


Lessons

by inber



Series: Inber's Geralt x Reader Fanfiction [2]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Barebacking, Dominance, F/M, Fluffy Ending, Name-Calling, No Plot/Plotless, Orgasm, Public Sex, Rough Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:21:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23592994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inber/pseuds/inber
Summary: You think you can steal from the White Wolf. He thinks you need to be taught a lesson. One-Shot!
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Reader
Series: Inber's Geralt x Reader Fanfiction [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1840087
Comments: 6
Kudos: 191





	Lessons

Your felt-booted feet are soundless on the uneven cobblestone of the alleyway. It is dark, almost too dark for you to make out the hulking silhouette of your mark as you creep towards him in the blanket of shadow the wall affords you, unhurried. One small step at a time, your limbs taut and steady, your flesh hidden beneath black cloth. Even your skirts had been hitched and tied properly so they would not swish against the ground or disrupt your movement. You were a wraith, unseen; you were a phantom born of moonlight mist on the last day of a waning moon.

The target in question appears oblivious to the danger he is in, muttering lowly to his horse, who seems to be fighting him on the matter of being tethered to a post. The animal doesn’t sense your presence, which bolsters you, and soon you are close enough to hear the man’s smoke-and-whisky baritone.

“Roach, I won’t even be long this time. I swear that last time was not my fault. No, don’t look at me like that. There’s fresh oats in it for you if you– _fine then_ , ripe apples. I’ll spend my hard earned coin on apples. Gods, but you are spoilt – hey, now. Be nice. Do we have a deal?” The horse prances in place, nudging him solidly with her head, and he chuckles. The scene almost stops you from your mission. But not quite.

As he loops the chestnut mare’s bridle ‘round the post to secure her, you make the final few steps behind him, taking the opportunity as he bends over to brush your light fingers over the bag of coin at his waist, pulling the cord that holds it secure with a gentle tug, feeling it give and begin to fall into your waiting hand–

–at the exact same time you find yourself gripped by the shoulders and pushed up against the wall face-first on the other side of the alley, the broad-shouldered man’s forearm around your neck, squeezing with just enough pressure to let you know that making a sound will not play out well for you.

“What have I caught myself here?” His voice is at the side of your face, and it sounds like a brush of freshly-cut grass; rough and scratchy against the delicate seashell of your ear, making you shiver. “A little pickpocket. A thief that thought that she’d be able to lift coin from my belt.”

“A simple misunderstanding, I can assure–” You choke out, ‘til he tightens his forearm just long enough to make you dizzy, and you gasp when he relinquishes the pressure.

“You’d take me for a fool, thief? Hmmm.” His hands slink to your waist, then to the curve of your ass in that shortened skirt. “Well, I’d take you for a whore in this outfit.” Fingers dig into the supple flesh of your rear, and in an automatic reaction, you widen your stance and whimper. “ _Oh-ho._ It appears I’m right.”

“ _Geralt_ ,” You whine, and he relaxes his hold enough so that you can look at him over the curve of your shoulder, all wide eyes and pouting lips, “I’m getting better. I almost _had_ you.”

His lips brush your ear again, and he captures your lobe in a nibble, before he rumbles, “I knew you were in the alley the second you made a single step. I’d know your scent _anywhere._ I’d pick it out in a crowd of thousands, Y/N.”

You squirm against the wall, only serving to brush your breasts against the stone, and push your backside into him. He growls in response.

“In some places, they punish thieves by taking their fingers.” He informs you, running palms flat down the length of your arms ‘til he captures your hands, raising them up and pinning them against the wall above your head. “Luckily for you, I am far more magnanimous in my judgement.”

With your legs spread and your hands on the wall – he does not need to pin them in order for you to know that moving them is not allowed – it’d be impossible for him not to smell your arousal, or to feel the shivering of your pulse double-time in the cage of your chest. “It’s not fair, though.” You pout, “You can smell me, see me in the dark, hear my footsteps. It’s like pitting a sheep against a wolf.”

“I never said I’d play fair when I agreed to teach you, little pet.” Smugly, he runs his mouth down the length of your neck, and you immediately tilt your head to allow him full access to your flushing skin, biting the end off a moan when he sucks the flesh at your collar. There will be a mark there tomorrow, angry-red, a visible claim. “You know that I could fuck you right here in the alleyway, outside in public, and nobody would bat so much as an eyelid? Just a whore with a customer. My secret slut, squirming for me in the dark.”

It’s not a threat when he says it; you have a choice, as ever, but his words ignite a firey war inside of you. Gods, you want him to take you exactly as he chooses. You know how he can make you feel. But there’s the tiny voice of reason that pleas with you to take this inside, behind closed doors, where there is no fear of discovery.

You squash that voice with the weight of your next words. “Then punish me as you’d see fit, Witcher.” Breathy acceptance accompanied by a smile. “Fuck me, right here, _right now._ ” It’s a challenge; it’s one thing for him to tell you that he will, but it’s another for him to carry out the promise. You know how possessive he is over you; if another man happened upon your tryst and made so much as a remark about your virtue, he’d find himself missing an appendage in very short order – probably his head. There was also the question of reputation; his, and your own. You can see this battle in his sun-struck eyes, and Gods help you, you can’t help but poke at his conscience with a stick.

“Unless you’re willing to concede that I almost had you, and you’re getting soft– _oh!_ ”

There is nothing soft about the length that he grinds into your ass, hard, and his thundering growl is your reply to the taunt; hastily, he shoves the skirt up to your waist, bunching the material further. His nostrils flare and you feel him tense behind you when he realises that you have purposefully foregone undergarments this evening, a surge of desire bolting up his spine.

“No wonder I could smell you, my little whore. So fucking naughty.” He rasps, lowering one hand to rub against your slit; you’re so damn wet for him, coating his blunt fingers, and he slips the middle one inside of you with ease. You cry out, but his free hand traps the sound, covering your mouth. “Shh- _shhh._ You have to be quiet for me, little pet. Wouldn’t want anyone finding you in such a compromising position, would we?” He punctuates his words with a few quick thrusts of his fingers, and you spread your legs just a bit wider, trying to rock your hips against the uneven rhythm. Your body screams for more, even if you can only muffle a moan into his fingers.

You hear the sound of fabric rustling behind you, but you dare not move from where he’s positioned you; in moments, you feel the large head of his cock nudging your entrance, and greedily you arch your lower back in a silent plea; _yes,_ _please, please use me, take me, please!_

He rumbles in satisfaction at your physical response, and you think he might use the hand at your waist to lower you back onto his cock, but instead he employs his impressive strength to hold you still as he hilts his entire length inside you with one powerful thrust, huffing out a breath that is entwined with a sound of pleasure as your cunt clenches his cock at the intrusion, a vice-like spasm that forces you to bite down on his hand so you won’t squeal. He barely notices the sting of teeth, breathing shallowly in your ear as he gives you a few moments to adjust to the size of him, and himself time to reel his control back in, because you’re so fucking _tight_ and _hot_ and it’s heaven.

When he does begin to move, it’s not a steady lover’s rock, no gentle build-up; he uses the muscle of his legs and the support of the wall to begin a power-fuck that is anything but romantic. There’s no room for flowery feelings or gentleness; it’s all primal, raw and needy lust. The slap of his balls against your soaking pussy is lewd and the sound seems to echo through the alley, but in seconds you don’t give a good Gods-damn if the entire village turns up to watch him rut you. It feels _incredible_. He has your hips tilted to perfectly punish the nerves of your g-spot, and every time he bottoms out, the slant of his pelvis kisses your swollen clit.

You’re unaware that you’ve become vocal again until he pants at your ear, “ **Hush** , I said. Fuck, _Gods_ , you’re so fucking _tight._ ” His words are dark, broken by the steady thrusting as he pistons his cock in and out of you with precision rhythm, and they make you keen, “Don’t make me fucking _gag you._ ”

You don’t know if it’s the threat, the illicit location, or his unparalleled skill when it comes to manipulating your body, but your orgasm explodes out of nowhere, forcing you to press your torso into the wall for support as he fucks you mercilessly through it, your lips parted in a wordless scream; savagely, your pussy milks him in a fluttering rhythm that advertises your release, begging for the warmth of his seed, and only then does his tempo suffer; groaning lowly, he slows, tempted to spill within you. But no – you have not been punished enough yet.

On tip-toe, your legs are shaking visibly, and he removes his hand from your mouth so he can grip both your hips, trusting you to employ the stone in front of you to lean upon, and he takes you exactly like you are actually a whore to be used for his pleasure, his thrusting wild and relentless, the strength of his fingertips enough to bruise your skin, if you could feel anything but mindless bliss. With his hand gone, you can’t suppress your cries any longer, but he doesn’t seem to notice; single-minded, he grunts with you, skewering your cunt, cursing every time you pulse around his shaft, the hard flexing of him against your snug walls tell-tale of his approaching climax.

The pleasure builds again, knotting in your abdomen until it cannot coil any tighter; with an incoherent gasp-wail you peak again, and this time he’s powerless to do anything but join you, hilting himself fully and pushing you hard into the wall with a short roar as his angry-hot cock explodes deeply inside you, a veritable river of seed throbbing from his tip and filling you, his balls drawn up taut against his body, his hulking frame shuddering behind you. “Fuck, _fuck,_ _ **fuck,**_ ” He chants, gasping, his voice charcoal and gravel, “ **Yes,** fuck, _yes._ ” You do not have the coherency for curses, but you whimper your agreement as your velvety walls instinctively draw every drop from him, milking him, clutching and coaxing until he has nothing left to give you.

The aftershocks shiver through both of you. His arms wrap around you, drawing your hands back down the wall, and he holds you to his massive chest, still balls-deep within you, supporting you.

Dazed, every limb quivering, you let your head roll back to hit his shoulder as you stare up at him with moon-eyed reverence. Your breast heaves with your panting. “I’m– I’m _never_ gonna execute your lessons properly… if this is how you punish me for it.” You tell him, your words lazy, and he chuckles warmly.

“Fuck it,” He reluctantly slips from your swollen folds, and you feel the warmth of his seed begin to spill from your body, 'til he withdraws a clean cloth from his pocket and places it between your legs, “Maybe I’m not cut out to be a teacher.” The hemline of your skirt falls back into place as he tugs at it, and you stumble drunkenly. Without hesitation, he lifts you into his arms, intent on carrying you back to the room you share.

“That’s okay,” You whisper, tracing the cleft of his chin and the line of his jaw with reverence, “I’m sure I’ll find other uses for you.”

**Author's Note:**

> I appreciate comments! You can find my ramblings on Tumblr, my username is inber. :}


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